Links was an artists’ cooperative, formed in 1968 by The Gaylads, Ken Boothe, The Melodians, and Delroy Wilson, fed up with getting ripped off by Studio One and co. They did everything themselves — hiring Dynamic / Wirl studios, printing up labels, organising the pressings, and distributing in person to Kingston record shops — in the teeth of peeved obstructiveness from other labels, producers, and radio stations. Many of their 45s were blanks, hand-stamped with BB Seaton’s home address: ‘Links Records, 39 Wildman Street, Phone 24954’.
The backing band was probably Lynn Taitt & The Jets to start, giving way to the Conscious Minds (with Joe White and Ken Boothe on keys), whose instrumental Something New is one of the highlights here, featuring killer guitar and trombone by Harris Seaton and Derrick Hinds.
Links was short-lived; ironically unable to cope with the success of a Melodians’ hit entitled It Comes & Goes.
It’s a fascinating story, and this is top-notch rock steady; the first compilation of the dozen or so Links releases. Scorchers by Conscious Minds, The Melodians, Randall Thaxter, and Ken Boothe — doing his best Otis Redding — steal the show.

Brecht Ameel playing prepared harmonium and celesta, alongside Kim Delcour modulating air and breath via various wind and reed instruments; joined by Will Guthrie on tuned and melodic percussion (timpani, glockenspiel, marimba, vibraphone), and Paul Garriau on hurdy-gurdy.
‘With a distinct rhythmic impetus and fluidity new to Razen, and characteristic freshness and playfulness, Regression relays between dire inhospitableness and refuge, abject sorrow and cosmic transcendence. It invokes mythology and superstition as keys to the primeval and the unknown.’

Deeply dug up, Numero-approved folk and rock covers of songs impossible to delete from the collective unconscious of Pop (however hard you hit the button).
Done-over Boz Scaggs, War, Redbone, Steely Dan, Fleetwood Mac, Neil Diamond, John Denver,Glen Cambell, Smokey Robinson, The Carpenters, Joe Cocker, and something ostensibly from Willy Wonka.

Still sealed.

Spare, slow burning soul with Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis at its core, from 1989 Detroit, courtesy of the Inner City milieu. On the flip, the dubwise club mix of I’m Losing Control is ace Motor City house, with heavy, grooving bass, splashing drum machine, and driving-by-night keys.

Holy grail Detroit funk recorded in 1969 for Dave Hamilton; backed with a tape-find Northern dancer.

Startlingly hot, raw, late-sixties funk and soul scorchers by this Arkansas band, named after the Stevie Wonder song, but evidently inspired by James Brown. Mostly out here for the first time, so this is terrific work by AOTN, who says it’s maybe the best LP they’ve released so far.
Warmly recommended.

Brassy, infectious Afro-Amerindian cumbia, porro, gaita, and mapalé from Colombia’s Caribbean coast, which injected a modern, jazzy, big-band sound into regional Afro-Colombian traditions, and took the country by storm.
The Orquesta Del Caribe, recorded in Medellin, 1946-1961: a legs-eleven blaring trumpets, soaring saxophones, meandering clarinets, rattling and pounding percussion, plus singer Matilde Diaz, led by the maestro Bermudez, widely considered Colombia’s most influential composer of all time.

The out-of-this-world recordings of Dilson de Souza, leading a kind of tropical chamber jazz on leaves from a ficus tree.
Dilson was from Barra do Pirai, in the Brazilian countryside; moving to Rio as a young man, where he worked in construction. He recorded his first record in 1954, for RCA Victor. He travelled to Quito around 1957, soon hooking up with Benitez & Valencia, who introduced him to the CAIFE label.
Dilson played the leaf open, resting on his tongue, hands free, with his mouth as the resonator. Though a leaf can also be played rolled or folded in half, this method allowed for more precision, a tethered brilliance. A picked ficus leaf stays fresh, crisp and clean-toned for around ten hours. He could play eight compositions, four at each end, before it was spent.
Biluka plays trills and vibratos effortlessly, with utterly pure pitch, acrobatically sliding into notes and changing tone on the fly. In Manuco, he leads Los Caníbales into a mysterious landscape on a rope pulled from an Andean spaghetti western, and corrals and teases them into a dialogue. A leaf, a harp, a xylophone, and a rondador — joined in Bailando Me Despido (Dancing As I Say Goodbye) by a saucy organ, doing sloshed call-and-response. In Anacu de Mi Guambra,  Biluka shows his full range of antics, hiccuping melodically over a set of magic tricks. His expressiveness was boundless.
The eucalyptus leaf is popular among Aboriginal Australians. In China, they’ve played leaves for 10,000 years. In Cambodia, people play the slek, a leaf plucked from either the sakrom or the khnoung tree. But ain’t nobody like Biluka, ever.
Astounding music.